


Bind Thy Heart

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Dirty Talk, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Smut, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, Witches, dubcon, dubious consent because of a spell, spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That’s when it hit him: this was part of whatever the witch had done to him. It had to be; why else would Sam be staring at him like he wanted to consume him on the spot?"</p><p>Sam gets hit with a binding spell by a (damn) witch, & the boys discover only Dean can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bind Thy Heart

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from The Pierces' 'Sticks & Stones']  
> Happy birthday, X.Man. <3 Sorry 'tis late!

We'd be so less fragile  
If we're made from metal  
And our hearts from iron  
And our minds from steel  
if we built an armour  
For our tender bodies  
Could we love each other  
Would we strive to feel  
\- The Pierces: 'Three Wishes'

It had to be a spell of some kind. A spell, or a curse, or – something.

They had finished off the witch they had been hunting for a week. Thrown the last ingredients of the spell into the bowl, set fire to it, and she had burst into flame. The second witch had been a complete surprise, caught them off guard. (He hated being caught off guard almost as much as he hated witches.)

She had thrown something that looked like a handful of powder at Sam, whom had been closest; he had collapsed to the ground almost immediately. Dean had gone after her but his name from his brother’s lips, barely audible, had halted him. He had rushed back to Sam’s side, where his brother was struggling to get to his hands and knees, and had caught him before the bigger man collapsed again.

The first thing he had noticed as he pulled Sam to his feet, slipping the bigger man’s arm around his shoulder so he could support him, was that Sam was burning up. The second was how unnaturally pale the man was, and how Sam could barely keep to his feet.

Dean had hauled him to the Impala – no small task, as his brother wasn’t a small person – and deposited him safely in the passenger’s seat. He had been reaching over the other to buckle him in when Sam had leaned forward slightly, pressing his feverish forehead against Dean’s shoulder. Even through a t-shirt and plaid overshirt, Dean had felt the heat emanating from the other.

“Don’t feel right,” Sam’s voice had been low-pitched, scratchy, almost afraid, and it had sent a punch of rage and concern and protectiveness through Dean’s entire body.

Damn witch. He would hunt her down and kill her later. His focus right then, however, was to get his brother back to their motel room and get him fixed up.

That had been two hours ago, and now Sam was lying on his bed in the cheap motel room. He seemed to be dozing, though he kept waking and mumbling almost incoherently. He was burning hot to the touch, had tried to refuse the water Dean made him drink. The big man was shivering, yet would kick off the blankets Dean draped over him. 

The fever and incoherence were concerning; even more concerning was the small, unfamiliar symbol Dean had noticed on the inside of his brother’s left wrist. It wasn’t one he could recall ever seeing before, and it hadn’t been there before the witch had tossed her magic dust at Sam, or even when Dean had been loading his brother in the car afterward. It was thin, white like old scars were white, and barely noticeable at first glance. He had traced a finger over it, found the skin very slightly raised: it was as if someone had branded or cut the symbol into Sam’s skin, and it had healed in a scar of the same shape.

The older Winchester rubbed a hand over his mouth as he paced the small room. Sam was the research buff, but he had his fair share of research experience under his belt himself. He had booted up his brother’s laptop and began his search. He had found a few sites, which he had bookmarked before reading through them. Though some mentioned witches’ curses and even had similar symptoms listed, none of them had any mention of the symbol, which looked a bit like a moon with an S overlapping it. Dean didn’t want to just pick and try any random spell. He had no intention of causing his brother potential damage by using the wrong counter-spell. 

They should have an entire journal of counter-spells at this point. And they did have some of the spells they had encountered over the years written down, and the counter-spells for them, but none that mentioned that type of symbol appearing on one’s body. 

After searching their journals and the internet for almost two hours, he had given Bobby a call. The man had listened to the symptoms and Dean had texted him a picture of the symbol on Sam’s wrist, and Bobby had promised to do some research of his own.

Dean moved to stand beside the bed as his brother shifted, throwing the blanket off himself again. He shook his head and muttered, “Need to stay warm, Sam.” 

“Too hot,” his brother responded, opening hazel eyes which were glassy with fever, “Don’t wanna.” The petulant look on his brother’s face caused him to smile a bit, and he sat down on the mattress’s edge. He laid a hand on Sam’s forehead – his brother stopped fidgeting as he did – and sighed softly. His gaze flicked to Sam’s face as the other mumbled, 

“Don’t feel right.”

“I know, Sammy,” he brushed his fingers through his brother’s hair, trying to sooth him, “We’ll get you better soon, though. You’ll be okay.” 

Sam turned his head into Dean’s touch, eyes slipping closed again. Dean continued stroking his hair for several minutes: when his brother’s breath had evened out and he seemed to be sleeping again, the older man stood and went to the small fridge in the room’s corner. He grabbed several bottles of water from it and some Tylenol from his duffel bag. He placed them on the nightstand between the two beds before stripping off his boots, over-shirt and jeans. He tossed the clothes onto a chair and moved back to his brother’s bed.

Dean reached down and brushed his fingers against Sam’s forehead; his brother was still far too hot to the touch. He frowned and started to turn away, but a hand caught hold of his wrist suddenly, stopping him. He looked down at Sam, to find that his brother was staring up at him, eyes wide. 

“Don’t go,” Sam’s voice was little more than a whisper, but it was the uncertainty, the underlying thread of fear, which sent another fierce stab of protectiveness through Dean, “Don’t – don’t leave me here.” 

“Not going any place,” he promised, seating himself on the bed’s edge, “I’m right here, Sam.” He gently nudged his brother’s shoulder and, after a moment, Sam scooted to make room for him. Dean slid into the bed next to him, back propped against the headboard. His brother hadn’t released his hold on his wrist, and didn’t even when Dean was settled next to him. 

“Right here, Sam,” he repeated, brushing his thumb against Sam’s arm as he allowed the other to maintain the hold on him. The younger man stared at him for a moment, blinking once: Dean’s brows shot up as the other shifted to press against his thigh and leg – his upright position placed his hip even with Sam’s head - hand still clutching his wrist and eyes slipping closed. Dean studied the other for a moment before reaching over and grabbing the remote off the nightstand. He flicked on the television, turning the volume low so it wouldn’t disturb his brother, and flipped through the channels until he came to Bruce Lee movie. He settled in for what he figured would be a long night as his brother dozed beside him.

 

Dean woke with a start the next morning when someone in the room next to theirs slammed a door. He raised a hand to rub at his eyes; he dropped it to look over at his brother as he recalled the previous night.

At some point in the night, he had stretched out beside his brother in the bed and fallen asleep. He had stayed awake, propped against the headboard, until his back ached and he could barely hold his eyes open, before succumbing to the temptation to just lie down. His brother had been sleeping peacefully, and he had figured that he was literally right there next to Sam if the other man needed him.

He blinked as he realized his legs were tangled with Sam’s, and the other’s arm was draped across his waist. His brother was lying on his side, facing him, so Dean raised a hand to press it against his forehead. To his relief, the fever of the previous night was gone. His eyes shifted to the other’s arm, the one draped over him. He grasped Sam’s hand and raised it so he could view his wrist: Dean frowned as he spotted the symbol on the other’s skin. 

Green eyes shifted to the younger Winchester as Sam stirred; Dean snorted in amusement as the bigger man’s brows furrowed and he shifted to press his face deeper into the pillow on which his head was resting. He ended up pressing his forehead against Dean’s shoulder in the process; his arm tightened around the older brother’s waist before he went still again. 

Dean smirked at the other for a moment, before shoving at Sam’s arm, attempting to dislodge it. Sam made a noise of displeasure, probably from having his sleep disturbed, and tightened his hold on Dean.

“C’mon, Sasquatch,” Dean shoved at his arm again, “Rise and shine.” He didn’t receive a response, and a frown touched his mouth. Worry touched him when his brother remained motionless – Sam was, like him, typically a light sleeper. It came with the job. He pressed a hand against Sam’s shoulder and shook the other lightly as he said, “Wakey wakey, Samantha.”

Still no response. Dean frowned in earnest now and sat up as much as the other’s arm would allow. His voice was deeper, more commanding, as he spoke, “Sam!”

Sam’s eyes flew open and the other raised his head. “Wha-?” Hazel eyes met his own, “What’s going on?” 

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” the younger man shifted, pulling his arm away from Dean’s waist and sitting up next to him, “Yeah, I’m fine. Why – why are we - cuddling?” 

Dean studied Sam’s face for a moment – he looked fine, if a bit confused: he wasn’t pale as he had been the previous night, and his eyes were clear.

“You don’t remember last night?” Dean asked as he sat up himself. He pushed himself out of the bed and stretched, wincing as his spine cracked. 

“No?” Sam shot him a puzzled glance, “What happened last night?”

“That witch we were after,” he reminded, “threw something in your face. You hit the ground after that. Ran a fever all night.” 

Sam stared at the bed covers as he took in the information: Dean could tell the moment the other recalled the previous night’s events. “Right. Did you find out what she hit me with? You have to do a counter spell or something?”

“No, not yet,” he frowned and shook his head, “Bobby’s working on it. Not sure if you need one, your fever seems to be gone. Witch got away, though, when I was checking on you. You sure you’re feeling okay? You said last night you didn’t feel right.”

“I feel fine,” Sam assured as he stood and stretched himself, “Maybe it was just a distraction tactic on her behalf.”

“Maybe,” Dean pondered, “but it left some kind of mark on you.”

“What? Where?” 

Dean nodded toward Sam’s left arm, and his brother raised it to inspect it. His eyes fell on his wrist and he stared for a moment, before breaking into a scowl. “What the hell?”

“Not sure. Couldn’t find anything matching it online. I sent a picture of it to Bobby.” 

“Damn witches.”  
Dean agreed wholeheartedly with his brother’s vehement declaration.

 

After breakfast and coffee, the brothers returned to where they had tracked the witch the previous day – an apartment complex across town – but found the place empty. It wasn’t only “she’s not here” empty, it was _empty_. The remains of the first witch they had taken out (the one whom had murdered six of the locals and had a list of at least a dozen more) was gone. Personal items, pictures and books and the like, which had been there when Dean had hauled Sam out the previous night, were missing. The furniture remained, clothing and dishes and daily living items remained; there was still some food in the fridge and cabinets, as well. Anything that might have identified the first witch, or the one they were currently after, was gone. 

“How the hell did she pack up so fast?” Dean muttered, turning a complete circle as he surveyed the living room of the ground-floor apartment. His gaze shifted to Sam as his brother glanced around with a frown, then suggested,  
“Let’s hit up the neighbors and see if they know if Amelia Parks had a roommate, and where she might have gone.”  
Dean nodded, adjusting the suit jacket he wore, and followed Sam out of the empty apartment.

The neighbors were as helpful as could be to the FBI agents who knocked on their doors, but they didn’t have a lot of information to share. Amelia Parks had lived in her apartment for less than six months, and hadn’t been very social. They thought she’d had a roommate, who was even less social: they didn’t even know her name. Two or three women had been seen entering and leaving her apartment several times, but no, the neighbors didn’t know who any of them were and hadn’t ever seen them around town. 

They had more questions and few answers by the time they were done canvassing the neighborhood several hours later.

Dean tossed his suit jacket in the Impala’s back seat before climbing in behind the wheel. He glanced over as Sam climbed in the car and pointed out the obvious: “That was a waste of time.”

Sam shot him one of his looks before he rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered, “No kidding.”

“Feeling okay, Sam?” Dean assessed his brother, running his eyes over him.

“Yeah,” Sam dropped his hand to his lap – Dean spotted the symbol on the inside of his wrist, “Just have the start of a headache.” His brother shot him an exasperated look as he continued to stare, skeptical, and huffed, “I’m _fine_ , Dean.”

 

The brothers followed a few more leads, including speaking with the apartment building manager and searching the name he had given them (on which they found some background but nothing to help them find their witch: no relatives, no aliases). It was almost 2 p.m. when Dean tossed his jacket in the backseat of the Impala, yet again, and declared,  
“Okay, we’re breaking for lunch.”

“Didn’t we just eat breakfast?”

Dean glanced over at his brother – Sam was staring out the passenger window – and answered, “Yeah, Sam. Almost eight hours ago.” He studied his brother for a long moment, and Sam looked over at him. The other man rolled his eyes and shook his head and started,  
“I’m – “

“Fine,” he finished, starting the car, “Got it.”

They were sitting in a local burger joint a short while later, eating lunch and trying to figure out their next step in searching for the witch.

“Maybe this one wasn’t involved,” Sam was saying, “Amelia might have been acting alone. This other woman was her roommate, right? Maybe she just freaked out when we were at the apartment. I mean, we had just – “ He paused, glanced around, and leaned in closer. His voice was lower so any passers-by couldn’t hear as he finished, “We had just finished off her roommate. Of course she would freak out.”

“Could be,” Dean agreed – they didn’t have any evidence that the second witch had been involved, “So – what? You want to stop looking for her? She did throw a handful of – whatever that was – in your face. And you do have that weird new tattoo. I would like to know what _that_ is about.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Me, too.” 

Dean bit into his burger, which was delicious. He voiced his approval aloud, mouth half-full, and heard Sam blow out an exasperated breath. When he raised his eyes to the other a minute later, he found Sam staring at him.

“What?” he asked, reaching for a napkin, “Got ketchup on my face?”  
A slight frown touched Sam’s mouth, and he shook his head. Dean raised a brow; his eyes fell to Sam’s hand as the other reached for his water, and it was his turn to frown. His brother’s hand was visibly shaking. The other hadn’t touched his food, either, though he had downed two glasses of water in the short period they had been sitting here. 

Sam’s fingers wrapped around his glass – the man stared down at them, perplexed, as ice began to clink together, caused by his shaking hand. Dean reached out and laid his hand on Sam’s before the other could lift the glass and, without a doubt, drop it in the process.

Dean didn’t miss the slight jerk that went through his brother the moment he laid his hand on Sam’s. He saw his brother’s hazel gaze drop to their hands for a moment, before rising to look at him. He realized at the same moment that Sam’s hand wasn’t shaking anymore. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was almost a whisper, and he met the other’s eyes, “Something’s wrong.”

“What? What’s wrong, Sam?” He straightened, entire focus pinpointing on his brother, and started to pull his hand off of Sam’s. His brows shot up as soft, low whine escaped Sam’s throat and fingers grabbed at his hand, preventing him from pulling away. 

“Sam?”

He saw an embarrassed flush creep up his brother’s neck and face, and Sam averted his gaze, even as he held onto Dean’s hand. 

“I’ve –“ Sam cleared his throat, “I don’t know. Head’s been hurting for a while, and I – I can’t seem to focus. And – just – “ He hesitated, fidgeting where he sat, “Just feel off. I don’t know. It – “ His eyes met Dean’s, and the older Winchester frowned as he saw the suddenly confused, almost helpless, look on Sam’s face. “It – I started feeling better just now. When – when you touched me.” 

Dean’s eyes dropped to their hands, before falling on the symbol etched on his brother’s wrist. He glanced at Sam as the other cleared his throat again and pulled his hand away, dropping it in his lap. 

“You think it has something to do with whatever that witch hit you with?”

“Has to be,” Sam muttered, “Wasn’t feeling like this before.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded and picked up his burger, “We’ll deal with it.” His brother nodded, and he bit into the burger. He chewed his bite, swallowed, and asked as he licked the ketchup from his lips, “Any other symptoms?”

Sam stared at him for a moment, swallowed visibly, before shaking his head no. Dean raised a brow but nodded, instructing, “Let me know if any more pop up.”

When they were finished eating – when Dean was finished eating, at least; Sam barely touched his food – he paid the check, ended up with the waitress’s phone number written on his receipt, and went out to the car. Sam was leaning against the Impala, chewing on a thumbnail and staring at the ground.

Dean opened his mouth to speak but shut it again as his brother huffed, “It’s fine. I’m fine.” He frowned but nodded and climbed into the car. It wasn’t until he was behind the wheel that he realized Sam hadn’t moved. 

“Sam. Let’s go!”

He raised a brow as his brother jumped a bit at his instruction, as if startled; a moment later, the other was climbing into the Impala and shutting the door. The younger man shot him a quick glance before averting his gaze to stare out the passenger window. Dean didn’t miss the fact that his hands were shaking again as he raised one to his mouth to chew his thumbnail. 

The older Winchester hesitated but, after several seconds, started the car to head back to their motel room.

Dean was flipping through channels on the television, which was sitting on a small stand at the end of the motel room, when his brother exited the bathroom. Sam’s hair was damp from his shoulder and he was dressed in jogging pants and a t-shirt. The older Winchester watched as the other went straight to the bed which was his for their stay and crawled onto it. His brow furrowed in concern as the bigger man pulled a blanket up around his shoulders and huddled into it, as if he was cold.

“Taking a nap?” he tried to keep his voice nonchalant as he asked the question.  
“Just a short one,” came the mumbled response, “Head hurts.”  
“You want some ibuprofen?”  
“No,” the other muttered, eyes closed, “Just going to nap for a few.”  
Dean studied him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the television.

He was immersed in an action film a couple of hours later, sipping on a beer, when a sound caught his attention. He tore his eyes from the television and tilted his head slightly as he listened: a moment later, he heard it again. A low, soft sound, almost a whine; his eyes shifted to his brother’s bed and he saw that Sam was shifting restlessly. He heard that low sound again, realized it was coming from his brother at the same moment that Sam raised a hand and pressed it against his temple.

“Sam?”  
Dean set the beer down on the nightstand and pushed himself out of his bed. He crossed the three foot span between the beds and reached out to drop a hand on his brother’s shoulder. His brows shot up in surprise as the younger man let out a genuine whine and tried to lean into his hand.

“Sam,” Dean sat down on the bed’s edge, “What’s wrong? Talk to me, buddy.” 

“Head hurts,” the other mumbled, eyes shut tight, “Hurts so fucking bad.” Dean frowned and pressed his hand to the other’s forehead: Sam was feverish, hot to the touch. He shifted his hand to Sam’s head to brush his fingers through the other’s hair, recalling that his touch had helped at the restaurant, and the other exhaled a soft sigh. 

His brother began to relax as he continued stroking fingers through his longish hair. “Scoot,” Dean instructed. His brother’s eyes opened to stare at him for a moment, and Sam scooted over. Dean hesitated a moment, but shoved his doubts aside as he watched the other’s forehead crease in apparent pain. He pulled his hands away from his brother long enough to stretch out beside the other man, and Sam _whined_ at the loss of touch. 

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean rolled onto his side to face the other as he reached up and began stroking fingers through his hair again, “I’m right here.” 

“Hurts, Dean,” his brother’s voice was barely audible, and he heard confusion and pain and fear tracing it, “H-head, chest, whole body, it all h-hurts.” He shoved down any embarrassment and awkwardness at cuddling with his brother as he pulled Sam closer, into his arms – his ingrained _take care of Sam, protect Sam_ nature was at the forefront of his being. 

He caught the satisfied sound (because there was no other word for it) his brother made as he pulled him closer; Sam pressed against him, slipped arms around his waist and tangled a leg with his in an attempt to get closer still. 

“This help at all?” he asked, voice low near Sam’s ear. They were close enough that he felt the shudder run through the younger man.  
Sam nodded yes as he whispered, “Helps. Pain eases when you’re touching me.”

Dean contemplated that for a moment before asking, “Is it anyone’s touch? Or just mine?”

“Don’t know,” the miserable whisper had Dean tightening his arms around his little brother, “Waitress at the restaurant put her hand on my arm, didn’t seem to help. Maybe it- it’s extended touch. Constant, maybe? She did it for a couple seconds, maybe it has to be longer to help.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded as he ran a hand up and down his brother’s back, trying to sooth him, “Okay, we’ll figure it out. I’ll call Bobby in a while and update him, see if he has anything.”

 

Dean was watching a rerun of _Doctor Sexy, MD_ when Sam woke with a start two hours later. He glanced down at his brother, whose head was on his shoulder, and found himself staring into hazel eyes. Sam blinked up at him before clearing his throat and pulling away. The other man sat up and ran a hand through his hair, a flush touching his cheeks.

“Feeling better?” Dean sat up himself and ran assessing eyes over his brother. The other man had stopped shaking shortly after Dean had laid down next to him, and his eyes were clear again. 

Sam gave a short nod, “Yeah, I am. Uh.. thanks.”  
Dean couldn’t stop his smirk as he said, “You’re welcome, Samantha. Anytime you want to cuddle, I’m your man.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam pushed himself off the bed, cheeks flushed again. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled as his brother headed for the bathroom. 

It wasn’t funny, whatever this was that was going on with Sam. Not really. Still.. inappropriate humor was how Dean coped, sometimes, and now didn’t seem to be an exception. Once Sam was in the bathroom, out of sight, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It looked like calling off their hunt for the witch whom had done this to Sam was off the books: it was obviously causing his brother distress, and they didn’t know how bad it would get.

As a precaution, they spent the remainder of the night in the motel room, doing research online and reading over their notes again. Dean called Bobby and updated him on Sam’s symptoms, and received the assurance that Bobby was looking into it and was going to make some phone calls. They did a bit more research before calling it a night to order take-away for dinner and watch an old black-and-white monster movie on television.

When Dean woke at 2 a.m. to soft sounds of distress from his brother’s bed, he sat up and started, “Sam..?”

“’m fine, Dean,” his brother told him through gritted teeth, “It’s fine.”

He frowned and laid back down, but didn’t sleep. When, half an hour later, Sam sat up in his bed and whispered, “Dean..” with pain etched in his features, he wordlessly climbed out of his bed and crawled into his brother’s. He pulled the bigger man into his arms and Sam shifted close, face pressed against his neck.

“How bad is it, Sammy?” he asked softly as he rubbed the other’s back. Sam shuddered as Dean’s breath ghosted over his ear before muttering against his neck, “Like a migraine but worse. Like a concussion. Like someone’s ramming an iron spike through my brain. Eases when you’re –“ the other fell silent, and Dean nodded, even though Sam couldn’t see it.

“Bobby’s looking into it,” he assured his brother, “We’ll figure this out. Does it hurt all the time?”

“N-no,” Sam shivered, pressed closer, and Dean reached for the blanket lying at their feet. He pulled it up over them as Sam continued, “It’s okay for – for a while. Then it – I start feeling weaker and the headache starts.”

He was relieved to hear that Sam wasn’t in pain all the time, at least not yet, but the fact that his brother was hurting at all made him want to drive a very sharp knife through the witch that had done this to him. He glanced down at the younger man and found that Sam’s eyes were closed, features smooth and pain-free. He rubbed his brother’s back until he fell asleep himself.

Sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains woke him later that morning. He rubbed a hand over his face before glancing down at Sam, whom was pressed against his side, leg entangled with his own. It took him a moment to realize that he was hard, and didn’t that make cuddling with his brother awkward? He carefully extracted himself from the other man, heat rising to his face, and climbed out of the bed. Dean stretched and headed for the bathroom and the shower. 

He stood beneath the spray for several minutes, allowing the hot water to relax his stiff muscles. Once he was a bit less stiff, he washed his hair and soaped his body. His fingers found his still hard cock and he bit his bottom lip as he gave himself several light strokes. It didn’t take long for him to bring himself off (and he most certainly wasn’t thinking of a tall, attractive brother whom had spent the night in his arms as he did), one hand pressed against the wet tile to support himself.

Dean had just turned off the water and grabbed a towel off the towel rack when he realized he hadn’t brought his clothes in here with him. He glanced at the discarded jogging pants he had slept in as he toweled himself off, then shook his head and wrapped the towel around his waist.

Sam was awake and sitting on the edge of his bed when Dean exited the bathroom. He shot his brother a quick, assessing glance – Sam looked okay, no pain on his face this morning – before turning to dig through the duffel bag he had tossed on his bed before getting in the shower. He had just pulled clean clothes from it when two things happened: the towel around his waist slipped loose before he could grab it, and his brother made a soft, almost-wounded sound behind him. 

His first instinct was, had always been, to check on Sam. Sam’s safety first. He turned to check on the other man, towel lying on the floor at his feet and a pair of jeans in his hand, and found Sam staring at him. He raised a brow in surprise – they had been changing in front of one another for years and typically tried to respect the other’s privacy. It took him a moment to realize that Sam wasn’t just looking at him, he was _looking_ at him. Hazel eyes were roaming the length of his body, and his brother’s eyes were wide, lips parted slightly and breathing uneven. 

Dean could feel the heat rise to his face and he quickly pulled on the jeans he was still holding. His voice was gruff with embarrassment and bewilderment as he asked, “Alright there, Sam?” His brother made that same almost-wounded sound as Dean covered himself, and that’s when it hit him: this was part of whatever the witch had done to him. It had to be; why else would Sam be staring at him like he wanted to consume him on the spot?

His brother blinked suddenly and, face flushing a shade of red, turned and headed for the door. He had just jerked open the door when Dean called, “Sam, wait!” To his surprise, Sam halted, hand still on the doorknob. The look the younger man threw him over his shoulder was almost panicked, and he looked like he was about to flee. 

“Hold up,” Dean crossed the room slowly, hands in front of him, “It’s okay, Sam. Come back inside.” 

He figured his brother would tell him to piss off and leave anyway: to his surprise, the other hesitated for a moment but obeyed, stepping back into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Okay, good,” he was hit by a sudden bout of awkwardness as he realized that he was preparing to question his brother about checking him out. His flush increased as he realized a second later that Sam’s eyes were locked on his unbuttoned jeans. He cleared his throat and tried to joke as he reached to button them, “Eyes up here, Sam,” but, in his embarrassment, it came out gruffer, more stern, than he had intended. His brother started and jerked his eyes up to meet Dean’s gaze.

Sam looked scared, and that brought his protective side to the surface. His voice was lower, softer, as he asked, “What’s going on with you, Sam?” He saw the other swallow hard but Sam remained silent, staring at him with widened eyes. “You gotta talk to me, man.”

Sam shook his head, bit his lip, and backed away. He was reaching behind him for the doorknob when Dean spoke again, voice slightly more stern, “Sam!” The younger man froze, eyes locked on his face, and he insisted, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

His brother’s hand was shaking when he raised it to rub his mouth. After a moment he said, voice so low it was almost a whisper, “I – I can’t – Dean..” 

“I have to know what’s going on,” he reminded the other, “So we can figure this out.”

“Dean, please,” it was a plea, those whispered words, and Dean was tempted to let it go and let his brother off the hook. Reason took hold, reminded him that, whether he wanted to address it or not, he _needed_ to know these new symptoms to help find a cure for this spell.

He took a breath and, voice hard, commanded, “Tell me what’s going on, damnit.”  
He saw the way his brother reacted, entire body jerking as if Dean had just shocked him, and his brow furrowed in concern.

“I – I w-want you,” the other man stammered, “I c-can’t help it. I’m sorry, I’m trying, it – I – I don’t know why, Dean.”

“You – want me?” he repeated the words as he stared blankly; his face heated yet again as he realized what his brother was saying, what those looks had meant. He had guessed as much but it was still awkward to hear it, for him and obviously for Sam too, whom was staring at the floor, face red as he chewed a thumbnail. 

Dean drew a breath and exhaled slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. Okay. He could handle this. It was the curse, the spell, whatever the witch had done to his brother. He could deal with this. He _had_ to deal with this; it wasn’t like either of them had a choice.

“It –“ he paused for a moment, taking in his brother’s features: Sam was scared, it was written all over his face, in the way he was wringing his hands in front of him, his eyes on the floor. His protective side rose again and he said, voice stronger, “It’s okay, Sam. It’s part of this spell the witch put on you. We’ll figure it out. Anything else?”

The younger man raised his eyes to him and nodded slowly. Dean waited, raising a brow when his brother remained silent. “What is it?” he asked after a minute. Sam swallowed and whispered, “Feel – when you – Dean, please don’t – “

He felt bad for the younger man and for how it was obviously distressing him, but he had to know. “Out with it, Sammy.” He studied the other, head tilted slightly, as Sam made a soft sound at the use of the nickname he allowed only Dean to call him. “Come on. Tell me.” 

“Feel – feel com- compelled to – “ the younger Winchester hesitated before finally blurting, his expression miserable, “Feel compelled to do what you say when you – when you say it like it’s an order. Want to – to p-please you.” 

Dean’s brows shot up yet again at that bit of information. Huh. What the hell kind of spell had that witch cast on his brother? He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he assessed the younger man, whom was slouched against the door, avoiding his gaze.

“Alright, first thing’s first,” Dean turned and strode back to the bed where his duffel was and picked up his t-shirt, “We get some coffee and some breakfast, then we’ll work on a plan for this.” He turned to face the other, and found Sam’s eyes riveted to his bare chest. The other’s gaze roamed the length of him, moved back up; Dean felt his cock twitch in his jeans as he watched his brother lick his lips, eyes locked on his chest again.

Dean cursed beneath his breath and told himself that it was a reaction to the looks he was receiving. Anyone would feel good with the kind of appreciation which was showing in Sam’s eyes directed at them. He cleared his throat and turned away to grab a pair of socks, and that was when he recalled that he was, currently, commando. He blew out a breath and snatched a pair of boxers and well, then headed for the bathroom.

 

When he had re-dressed himself and exited the bathroom, Dean spotted his brother sitting on the edge of his bed. Sam’s knee was bouncing and he was chewing a thumbnail, and very studiously _not_ looking in Dean’s direction. Dean frowned as he sat down to pull on his boots. His brother looked tired, and miserable, and embarrassed, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He finished lacing his boots and stood, then grabbed his keys and gun off the small table near the television. He checked the gun’s safety before tucking it in the back of his jeans, beneath his t-shirt.

“C’mon,” he said, moving to the door. His brother stood immediately, eyes on his face, and he reminded himself to stop phrasing everything as an order. If Sam was going to listen and obey, he wanted it to be because – He shook his head slightly, cutting that thought off before it could finish forming, and jerked open the door.

Dean scowled at nothing in particular as he walked out into the parking lot.

 

They were eating breakfast in a waffle joint a short while later. Dean refrained from visibly rolling his eyes as he watched Sam flirt with the pretty brunette waitress throughout breakfast. He had teased her, telling her he was a palm reader, and was currently holding her hand between his large ones. He stared at her palm for a moment before raising his eyes and telling her with one of his dimple-producing smiles, “I predict you’ll meet a tall, handsome guy in a waffle house today.” She giggled and called him a fraud before sashaying away: when she returned minutes later with their check, Dean saw her slip him a napkin with her phone number on it.

“Did it work?” Dean asked as they left the restaurant and crossed the parking lot. Sam was silent for a moment before muttering, “No.” 

So prolonged contact with other people didn’t seem to do the trick; at least, not with females. It didn’t with males, either, they discovered a short while later when Sam used the same palm-reading line on a blushing, obviously interested male server in a coffee shop (the coffee in the waffle house had been far too weak for either of their liking).

“Looks like it’s just you,” Sam muttered as they exited the coffee shop a bit later and headed for the Impala. Dean was about to tease his brother about that (how could he _not_?) but frowned when he noticed the bigger man rubbing at his temple. The headaches seemed to be occurring with shorter amounts of time between them.

Dean hesitated as he watched his brother: he was torn between putting his hands on the other in an attempt to ease his pain, and avoiding touching him altogether. The decision was made for him when Sam clutched his head suddenly, a low moan tearing from his throat, and nearly went to his knees.

He rushed to his brother’s side and caught him as he stumbled. Sam leaned into him immediately, eyes closed and a whimper escaping him; he followed blindly as Dean guided him to the Impala.

After settling Sam in the car, Dean took his hands off his brother long enough to move around the Impala and climb in on the driver’s side. Once he had the car door shut behind him, he turned toward the other man, whom was leaning against the passenger door, head clutched in his hands and a grimace of pain on his face.

“Sam,” Dean placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, and Sam leaned in his direction with another soft whimper.

“Fuckin’ hurts,” the younger man mumbled, eyes tight shut, “Dean..”

“I got you,” Dean slid his hand up to press it against the bare skin of Sam’s neck. The other let out a soft moan of relief, leaning hard into his palm. “Come here,” he instructed gently, shifting over behind the wheel. His brother whimpered at the loss of contact, and he reached over to grasp his bare wrist, “Come on, Sammy. Come here.” Sam obeyed and pulled his hands away from his head to scoot across the seat, until he was sitting next to Dean. 

Dean slid his hand beneath Sam’s shirt, pressing his palm against warm skin. Too warm, he realized after a moment – Sam’s fever was returning. He cursed softly and slipped his arm around the other’s waist, tugging his brother against his side. Sam didn’t put up any resistance, leaning instead against him. Dean started the car and pulled it out of its parking space, then headed toward their motel room. 

The cell phone in his pocket rang mid-drive; he stopped at a stop sign and retrieved it, hitting the talk button.

“Hey Bobby.”

_’This spell that was cast on Sam. I did some research and made some calls, and it looks like it’s some kind of binding spell.'_

“Binding spell?” he repeated, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could drive – his other hand was currently occupied, rubbing up and down Sam’s side. 

_’Yeah. It binds the victim to someone else and.. well, looks like it has to be consummated, or it has some pretty nasty side effects, not excluding death.'_

“Consummated? You mean.. sex?” Dean glanced over at his brother, a feeling of dread rising to and settling in his chest.

_’That’s what it looks like. So you need to find out who he’s bound to and go from there.’_

Dean was silent for a long minute. It was long enough that it clued Bobby in.

_’Shit. It’s you, isn’t it?’_

“Yeah,” he glanced at Sam again as the other turned his face to press it against his shoulder, “Yeah, I think so. He told me this morning he –“ He swallowed, unable to speak the words aloud, instead moving on to, “He feels _compelled_ to do whatever I tell him to do. It helps when I touch him, but only me. He tried touching other people, didn’t help.”

_’Well shit. We’ll keep looking, Dean. We’ll find another way. How is he?’_

Dean glanced at the younger man pressed against his side and answered softly, “Not good, Bobby. It’s getting worse and it’s hurting him. I’m not gonna lose him. If I have to –“ He swallowed hard and repeated, “Not going to lose him to this.”

There was a combination of emotions in Bobby’s voice - pain, understanding, sadness, determination – as the man said, voice somehow both gruff and soft, _’I know you well enough to know you’ll do what you have to do to save him. I’ll keep looking. We’ll find another way.’_

 

Sam was clinging to him by the time they reached the motel, face pressed against his neck and arm beneath Dean’s shirt, hugging him. Dean parked the Impala in front of their room and opened the driver’s door. He paused for a moment, debating, before climbing out of the car. His brother made a sound of protest when he pulled away; moments later, he was pulling Sam out of the driver’s side. When the man was standing next to him, he shut the car door and pulled him toward their shared room.

“Take your shirt off,” Dean instructed the moment they were in the room and the door was shut behind them.  
“Dean, you d- don’t have to –“ Sam started, hands shaking as he ran them through his longish hair.  
“Shirt off!” It was a command, not a request, and Sam obeyed immediately. “On the bed,” Dean commanded gruffly as he tugged his own shirt off and tossed it on a chair in the room’s corner. The younger man hesitated a moment before obeying and sitting on the edge of his bed. Dean didn’t miss the fact that the other’s eyes were locked on his bare torso as he crossed and knelt in front of him. He caught hold of Sam’s wrist as he knelt and raised it to press it against his own shoulder. The other let out a soft sigh of relief, fingers clutching at Dean’s skin. He unlaced Sam’s boots and pulled them off him, tossing them out of the way, before removing his own. Once they were gone, he stood and told the other, “Lie down.” 

Dean heard the click of Sam’s throat as the other swallowed, saw Sam struggling with the decision. He hardened both his features and his voice as he instructed, “Lie down, Sam.” His brother bit his bottom lip, eyes meeting his own, and moved to obey. When he was lying on the bed, Dean crawled in next to him. He pressed a hand against the other’s shoulder, guiding him to lie on his side, then laid next to him. Dean scooted close, his bare chest to the other’s back, and slid an arm over Sam’s waist to tug the other back against him. He ignored his embarrassment, the potential for awkwardness between them, everything but his brother. He slid his hand up to Sam’s chest as the other shifted, holding him close: his brow furrowed as he felt his brother’s heart racing beneath his hand. 

Dean’s gaze flicked to Sam’s face as the other let out a low moan, and he started, “Sam?” His eyes widened slightly as the man pressed back suddenly against him – no, _grinded_ against him. He swallowed, cock twitching in his jeans, as the other moaned his name,  
“Dean. Feels so good.”  
“W- what does, Sammy?”  
“You,” his brother rocked back against him again, ass pressing against Dean’s crotch, “You – your hands on me..” The bigger man shook his head suddenly, started to scoot forward and put space between them, “I’m sorry, fuck I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – Dean I’m sorry..”  
Dean let him put distance between them for a moment, uncomfortable with the closeness as his face flushed slightly in embarrassment. He started to slide his hands off his brother, but a whimper which Sam tried to restrain but couldn’t quite manage escaped the other’s throat. Pain was etching his brother’s features again, and the younger man was biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Dean drew in a slow, deep breath and pulled his brother back against him again, closing the space between them. When Sam attempted to shift away from him, he placed an arm over his waist, hand resting on his chest, and instructed, “No. Stay.”

“N – not a dog, Dean,” his brother panted, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Dean smirked and leaned in close to murmur, “No? You don’t want to be my good boy?” as he stroked his hand up and down Sam’s chest. His smirk widened as the other man gasped and rocked back against him again. “Tell me what you need, Sam. Tell me what helps.”

“Can’t – can’t do that to – to you..”

He was motionless for several seconds before leaning in closer and breathing, deliberately, against his brother’s ear, “Tell me what helps, Sammy.” The low, responding moan sent a stab of heat straight through Dean, right to his cock. “Not gonna let you suffer here if I can help, so tell me how to help you feel better.” 

“Don’t know.”

“I think you do know,” he leaned in again to breathe warm breath against his brother’s throat, “If I can stop your pain, I’m going to do it.”

When Sam started to shake his head again, Dean tightened his hold on the other and growled, “Tell me, Sam. Now.”  
Sam gasped again, arching into his touch as his hand brushed up and down the other’s side and chest. “Dean, please,” the other whispered, breathing uneven as he rocked back hard against Dean, practically grinding his ass into his crotch, “Please..”

The reaction was enough to make his dick rock hard, and his shifted his hips away from his brother to hide that fact. His own voice was husky, rough, as he murmured near the other’s ear, “You need me to touch you?” When the other nodded, he drew another calming breath and murmured, “Don’t want you to hate me when this thing is gone and you’re better. Just – just don’t want you to hurt, Sam.”

“Won’t,” Sam panted as Dean’s fingers brushed paths up and down his chest and stomach, “Won’t hate you. ‘m sorry, Dean I’m sorry, I ..”

His words cut off into a sharp gasp as Dean brushed a thumb over his nipple. The older Winchester bit back a growl as the younger arched forward, into his hands. “Dean..” his name was barely a breath from Sam’s lips, and he brushed over his nipple again. He caught it between thumb and forefinger, squeezed lightly, and Sam bucked beneath him, rocking back hard against him.

Dean bit his lip, watching the younger man’s reaction as he rolled the hard, tiny nub between his thumb and forefinger, adding a light pinch. His brother arched against his hands again, and Dean murmured at his ear, “So responsive, Sammy. This feel good?”

“Yeah,” Sam panted, “Feels so good.”

“Mm,” his voice was rough, low-pitched as he teased, “Starting to think you like this.”

“Fuck,” Sam glanced over his shoulder at him, pupils blown, and whispered, “Your voice.”  
“My voice?” Dean huffed a low chuckle, “What about it?”  
“Like to hear it.”  
“Yeah?” Dean traced his thumb around the other’s nipple before pinching lightly again, “You like to hear me talk?” His voice dropped an octave as he breathed in his brother’s ear, “Or maybe you just want to hear me talk dirty. That it, Sammy? You want your big brother to talk dirty to you?”

The other drew in a sharp, ragged breath, managed a nod, and Dean smirked as he leaned in to brush his lips against his brother’s earlobe. Sam let out a low, soft moan, eyes slipping closed. 

“Look at you,” Dean practically purred, dragging his nails lightly down the other’s chest, “Moaning like a whore for me.” The sound Sam made at the words had Dean’s own cock twitching, “You hard for me, Sammy? Hmm? You want big brother to stroke that hard cock?”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice was wrecked, ragged, and it struck Dean just how much he liked hearing it that way, and knowing he was the cause.

His hand slid to Sam’s stomach, caressing smooth skin and toned muscle, other one clutching the bigger man’s hip. “Maybe you want more, hmm? Tell me what you want, little brother.”

“Want you,” Sam gasped as he arched into Dean’s touches, “Please, Dean.”

“You want me?” he brushed his mouth against the side of Sam’s neck, felt the shudder run through the other man, “Want my cock, Sammy? My cum?”

“Yes,” the whispered plea sent another stab of lust through Dean, causing his already hard dick to twitch in the confines of his jeans, “Want to taste you. Want you inside me.”

His low chuckle drew yet another moan from his brother, and Sam arched back against him. The other whimpered in need as Dean’s fingers found the button of his jeans, undid it. He hesitated a moment, the feel of Sam’s hard member trapped in the denim beneath his fingers giving him pause. When his brother arched his hips forward in a silent plea, he pushed down the zipper. 

“Take your dick out,” Dean instructed. He watched over his brother’s shoulder as the other obeyed with a shaking hand, reaching in to pull himself free of his jeans and underwear. Sam groaned and stroked his length once; he froze as Dean growled, “No. Hands off.”

Dean watched as his brother obeyed, reluctantly pulling his hand away from his cock. “Yeah, good boy,” he murmured, nipping softly at the other’s earlobe and drawing a whine from him, “Keep your hands off that cock, whore.” Sam’s reaction to being called a whore – arching back against Dean, lips parted as he gasped a breath – had Dean wanting to see more.

“Bet you want that whore mouth on me, don’t you, little brother?” he growled as he arched his own hips, pressing his hard cock against Sam’s ass, “Would you suck my dick, Sam? Hmm? Swallow down everything you could and then lick the cum off my cock?”

“Yes,” Sam moaned, grinding back hard against him, his own exposed dick twitching against his stomach, “Please, let me suck you off.”

“Might just shove my dick in that hot mouth,” his fingers found Sam’s nipple, pinched and tugged at it to draw soft sounds of pleasure and need from the other, “Hear you beg me to fuck your mouth and shoot my load down your throat. Might shoot it all over that pretty face so everyone can see it. Show everyone you belong to me.”

Sam moaned and turned his head to look at Dean, pupils blown wide with lust and mouth parted as he drew in ragged breaths. “Dean, please.. _please_..”

“Please fuck your mouth?” he leaned over the other to catch Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth and tug lightly, “Please drag you outside, covered in my cum, and bend you over the hood of the Impala? Fuck you so anyone passing by can see that you’re my slut?”

He felt the other’s entire body go rigid as a low, needy moan tore from Sam’s throat.  
“Cum for me, Sammy. Come on, baby boy, cum for me.”

Dean growled as his brother began to cum hard with a low cry of pleasure, fingers digging into Sam’s hip as hot white fluid painted the younger man’s chest and face and the mattress.

“Yeah, that’s my good boy,” he shifted so he was propped on an elbow and leaned over to watch the pleasure cross Sam’s features, “Look at you, cumming without even having your dick touched.” He leaned over the bigger man to trail his tongue through a stripe of cum, which was painting the other’s cheek. 

“Deeeeaaaan..” Sam moaned his name and rolled onto his back to better face him, “Need to taste you. Please.. let me suck you..”

Dean watched as his brother sat up and shifted to his knees. He allowed himself to be pushed back on the bed, watching as his brother crawled between his legs. Sam’s fingers brushed up his thighs, toward his crotch; when the other’s fingers brushed his cock through the denim covering them, he bit his bottom lip in pleasure. 

He didn’t miss the way Sam’s hands shook as the other fumbled with the button of his jeans, trying to undo them, nor the way he slitted his eyes half-shut, as if the light was too bright. He could read the signs in the other’s body language: making Sam cum hadn’t been enough. His brother was still in pain, or at least it was returning, and rather rapidly. He reached down and caught the other’s hands in his own. Sam shot him a panicked look and whispered, “Please, please let me..”

“Easy baby,” the older man soothed, “Gonna give you what you need.” Dean undid his jeans and pushed them off his hips. He chuckled softly as his brother grabbed hold of them and jerked them down, pulling them off his legs and tossing them aside, then reached for his boxers. “So impatient,” he murmured as the other moved to kneel between his legs again. He caught the way Sam was eyeing his member like it was some kind of tasty treat; his dick twitched as his brother licked his lips. 

Sam leaned in and trailed his tongue up Dean’s shaft, and the other man bit back a groan. He watched as his brother paused, uncertainty on his face. Hazel eyes shifted up to look at him as Sam told him, voice shaky, “I’m not – not certain I can make this good for – for you. I’ve never -- ” The other swallowed, and Dean reached down to brush fingers through his hair. “S’okay,” he murmured, tightening his fingers in the chestnut locks, “I’ll show you.” 

Dean tugged his brother’s head back down, and a hungry moan escaped his brother as the man leaned down to take his cock in his mouth. “Fuck,” Dean cursed, arching against the other as the hot, wet heat of Sam’s mouth surrounded his aching dick, “Good, baby, that’s good.” Sam moaned softly at the praise and traced his tongue up the hard shaft, to lick and suck at the head. The older Winchester growled and pulled the other’s head closer, thrusting up into his mouth. Sam tried to take more of him, gagged slightly, tried again. When the younger man pulled off him to plead breathlessly, “Fuck my mouth, Dean. Make me take it,” Dean growled again and complied. He grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair as he jerked the other’s head down and commanded,  
“Take it, bitch. Yeah, good, just like that. You like this, slut?” He held Sam’s head in place as he began to thrust in his mouth, sliding his dick past spit-slicked lips, “You like when your big brother fucks this hole?” Sam gagged slightly, tried to recover, took more of him. Dean growled and pulled the other’s head back a bit as he felt that familiar tingling building at the base of his spine. “You wanna suck me dry, Sam? Hmm? Want me to cum down your throat and make you drink it all?”

Sam nodded almost frantically in response, sucking harder at Dean’s shaft and speeding up his strokes on the older man’s cock. It was a little clumsy, Sam being new to it, but Dean thought it was the hottest thing he had seen. Ever. It struck him – not for the first time – that his brother was a beautiful creation. When Sam took him deeper, swallowed around the head of his shaft, Dean began to cum, a low cry of pleasure tearing from his throat. Sam drank down all he could with a pleasured cry of his own; when he had swallowed it, he began licking Dean clean. 

Dean took a minute to catch his breath before tugging lightly at Sam’s hair, in which his hand was still tangled. The other complied and crawled up to lie next to him, a soft sigh escaping him when Dean pulled him in his arms. He decided he liked the sight of his brother as he was currently, lips swollen and red, eyes glazed with pleasure. 

“Didn’t mean to – to make you,” the other whispered suddenly, raising hazel eyes to him, “’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry, please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t, baby” he assured, pulling the other against his side, “Don’t worry about that. Did it help you feel better?”  
Sam nodded, licking his lips, as he whispered, “Yeah. Felt good. You taste good.” It was Dean’s turn to flush in embarrassment, and his brother whispered, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need to apologize, Sammy.” He held the other tight for several minutes, rubbing his back and repeatedly murmuring “I got you, sweetheart,” and “You’re okay, it’s okay”. 

His little brother dozed off several minutes later, face pressed against Dean’s chest. He reached down and lifted the younger man’s arm to study his wrist: a soft curse escaped his lips as he saw that the odd symbol, made by the witch’s spell, was still present. 

He contemplated getting up and putting on his jeans, feeling more than a little awkward at lying next to his brother, completely naked. He rolled his eyes at himself: he had gotten Sam off by talking dirty to him, and had just allowed the other man to suck him off. Now he was feeling awkward about being naked next to him? He reached for the blanket which was bunched at the foot of the bed instead, pulling it up over them. 

When next he woke, Dean could see through the slit in the curtains that the neon motel sign was lit, throwing out a red glow: the sun had gone down, which meant he had been napping for several hours. His eyes shifted away from the window, startled, as he heard what sounded like a soft sob. He realized that Sam wasn’t in the bed next to him, and sat up to look for the younger man.

His eyes fell on his brother moments later: Sam was sitting on the floor near the bathroom, back against the wall and his head in his hands. Correction, one hand was clutching his head; his brother was biting down on his fist, trying to refrain from making noise. Dean heard the sob escape the other man regardless, saw his shoulders shake, and leaped out of the bed in alarm.

“Sam?” he crossed the room to his brother and knelt beside him. He recalled that he was nude but that was at the back of his mind as he placed a hand Sam’s shoulder, “Sammy? What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Hazel eyes, wet with tears, raised to meet his gaze as his brother gave a brief nod. “Didn’t – didn’t mean to – to wake you,” his voice was shaky, face pale and eyes holding a glassy sheen. Dean could feel the heat emanating from the other man, indicating that his brother was feverish again.

His voice was a whisper as he said, “How bad, Sam?”

“Bad,” Sam’s eyes slid closed and he clutched at his head, “Feels like – oh god, Dean, I can’t –“ 

Dean shifted into action at the words, slipping a hand beneath his brother’s arm to pull him to his feet. He caught the bigger man as Sam staggered, barely able to stand on his own, and slid an arm around his waist to help him back to the bed.

Sam rolled onto his side in a semblance of the fetal position when he was in the bed, clutching at his head and trying to hold back his noises of pain. Dean took thirty seconds to grab a small, plastic bottle of lube out of his duffel bag, before moving back to the bed. He jerked the blanket out of the way, throwing it to the foot of the bed, then placed a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Gonna take care of you, Sammy,” he vowed as he gently pushed him onto his back. He reached for the waist of Sam’s jeans, grabbed them and tugged them and his boxers down, “I’m going to fix this, okay?”

“Can’t ask that of –“ Sam started, voice trailing off with a soft gasp as Dean ran his hands over the younger man’s sides and stomach. He moved to his knees beside the prone man, running his hands over him until some of the pain eased from Sam’s features. Dean leaned down to brush his mouth against the other’s collar bone – Sam jerked as if shocked – before trailing his tongue down his chest. He caught his brother’s nipple in his mouth and began to lave it with his tongue, drawing a low moan of pleasure from him. Sam nearly arched off the bed, back bowed toward him, as he sucked lightly on the sensitive nub, then nipped it with his teeth. 

Dean kissed and licked his way down the younger man’s chest and stomach. A smirk touched his mouth as he raised his head, saw that his brother was hard already, He glanced up at his brother and found Sam watching him, lips parted and eyes a bit more clear. 

“Want me to suck you, baby boy?” The purred question, combined with the use of that particular endearment, had pre-cum leaking from Sam’s hard shaft. He smirked and murmured, “I’ll take that as a yes,” before lowering his head and trailing his tongue over the head of the other’s cock. Sam gasped out a low cry of pleasure as Dean pressed the tip of his tongue in the slit, tasting his brother. 

“Mm,” the older Winchester raised his head and shot his little brother a sexy smirk, “Taste good, Sammy.” It struck him that maybe he should keep sentiments like that to himself, but wasn’t it a little late for that now? Hadn’t he crossed a line already, and was about to cross another very, very huge one? One that could ruin them when the curse was broken?

“Dean..” Sam’s voice was breathless as the other whispered his name.  
Dean winked at him and dipped his head down to take the head of his dick in his mouth. His brother would probably hate the sight of him when this was all said and done, but he couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ , allow this curse to kill the other man.

Dean sucked lightly on the head of the cock in his mouth as he traced it with his tongue, focusing on the spot just beneath the crown. Only his hands, clutching Sam’s hips, kept the other from arching completely off the bed. He chuckled around the shaft in his mouth as he bobbed his head to take more, the vibrations of which drew a full-body shudder from Sam. It wasn’t his first time at this particular rodeo, and he knew how to make it good.

Dean pulled off with an almost-obscene pop, and found his brother staring at him, wide-eyed and breathing rapidly. “Just the warm-up, baby boy,” he promised with a smirk, just before swallowing Sam’s dick again. He took it until he felt the head of the other’s cock bump the back of his throat, heard his brother’s moan, before pulling almost completely off, only to repeat the action.

Dean sucked and licked his brother until Sam was a writhing mess beneath him, hand on Dean’s head and pleas falling from his lips. That was when he pulled off completely, shoved the other’s legs further apart, and leaned in to lick the spot just behind his balls. He trailed his tongue down to Sam’s hole, grinning slightly as he heard his brother muttering _’fuck, please, fuck’_ above him. Dean flattened his tongue to lick over the tight hole in front of him, and Sam broke into Latin. He chuckled as he gripped the firm ass cheeks in front of him, spreading the other man open: a moment later, he was pressing his tongue against the small, tight opening, pushing the tip inside. His brother bucked hard against him, dick twitching, and Dean raised his head to tell him, “You don’t come until I allow it. You hear me?” Sam whined, and he demanded, “Sam! You hear me?” 

“Yes. Yes, oh fuck, yes. Anything you say, anything.”

“Good boy,” he praised before he lowered his head to lick his brother open.

After several minutes of eating him out, getting him nice and wet, Dean slipped a finger into Sam’s tight hole. A low growl escaped his throat as he pressed in to the second knuckle, then deeper. Sam was moaning and writhing above him, trying to press back against his hand to take more.

“Hungry for it, aren’t you, bitch?” Dean growled, continuing the dirty talk his brother seemed to like, as he slipped his finger out and pressed it back in, thrusting into the other. He added a second, his dick dripping as Sam let out a moan of pleasure-pain. “Want me to just shove my dick in you without opening you up? Is that what you want?” 

“Yes,” Sam begged as he arched back against the fingers scissoring him open, “Anything, please, please, anything you want..” 

His little brother moaned in protest as he pulled his fingers free. Dean ignored it as he reached for the bottle of lube lying next to him. He opened it and squirted a fair amount on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it a bit. He traced his fingers around the other’s hole again – Sam nearly flew off the bed at the touch – before shoving them in. 

Dean added a third finger, growling as he felt the way his brother’s silky, smooth insides clung to them. “Gonna open you up,” his voice was rough, gravelly with lust, “then I’m gonna fuck your tight ass. That what you want, bitch? You want big brother to fuck your whore ass?”

Sam gasped out a “yes” as he rocked back hard against Dean’s fingers, taking them deep. “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

Dean jerked his fingers free and grabbed the lube again. He poured some in his hand and threw the bottle on the mattress, then gripped his cock to stroke it. As much as he wanted to look his brother in the face, see the pleasure in his features, he knew it would be easier if Sam was on his hands and knees. Might be easier on his brother after the fact, also: the other was caught up in the throes of this spell, but Dean knew he probably didn’t really want to be fucked by his own brother.

He shoved those thoughts aside for the moment. “Hands and knees, Sam,” he growled, gripping the base of his cock and squeezing tight, “Now!” His brother gasped softly and obeyed, moving to position himself on his hands and knees in front of Dean.

Dean leaned over the other man, rubbing his cock against Sam’s crack and drawing a breathless whine from the other. He placed a hand between Sam’s shoulder blades and pressed him down so that his chest was on the bed, ass in the air like an offering.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed at the enticing sight before him. He rubbed the head of his dick against his brother’s tight little hole; moments later, he was pressing in. He had just pressed the head inside, past the tight ring of muscle, when his brother whined in pain, body stiffening. Dean halted, eyes closed as he struggled to hold onto his self-control. He rubbed his brother’s hip, murmured, “It’s okay, baby,” over and over. He groaned in surprise and pleasure as Sam suddenly, unexpectedly, shoved back against him, taking several inches. Dean pressed in further, until he was fully seated inside the other man, tight muscles clinging to his dick. Sam was panting beneath him, muscles rigid, and Dean held himself still to let the other adjust. The bigger man caught him off guard a minute later when he shoved back hard against him, muscles clutching his cock and nearly making him lose it on the spot.

“Fuck me,” the other was pleading, “Dean, fuck me!” 

Dean growled, digging his fingers into his brother’s hips hard enough to bruise, and complied with the other’s pleas. He pulled his dick almost completely out, rammed it back in: a fierce stab of possessiveness rose up in him as he realized just how much he liked the sounds his brother was making, how he wanted to be the only person to _ever_ draw those noises out of the other man. He jerked the other back hard against him as he thrust into him, a low, growled, “Mine,” escaping him. 

Sam nodded against the mattress, looked over his shoulder at Dean and repeated, “Yours, Dean,” with something like reverence. Dean swallowed hard at the look, other, long-repressed feelings rising within him. He closed his eyes for a moment, pulling his focus back to Sam and saving Sam from the curse that was trying to consume him. 

“Like it when your big brother fucks your ass?” Dean asked as he buried himself deep, shifted his hips to press deeper, moving himself inside the other, “Fuckin’ slut for my dick, aren’t you baby?”

“Yes!” Sam pushed himself back, fucking himself on his older brother’s dick, “Want to be your slut, Dean!”

“My pretty whore,” Dean groaned, angling himself to hit Sam’s prostrate. The other cried out in pleasure, tried to press back harder against him. Dean continued slamming into him, making certain he hit his prostrate on every thrust. “Fuckin filty slut, Sammy, letting your own brother fuck your tight ass like this.” He reached around and grasped the other’s balls in his hand, tugged lightly at them to draw a cry from Sam. “You want me to fill you with my cum, baby?”

Sam nodded frantically, whimpering as Dean rolled his balls between his fingers. “Dean, please, oh god please, please..”

Dean wrapped his fingers around his brother’s dick and began stroking as he pounded the man’s ass, driving him forward with every thrust. “Look at you,” his voice was wrecked, a rusty growl, “opening your whore ass for my dick. Begging for it. So fuckin’ beautiful, Sam. Gonna let big brother use your tight little hole any way I want, aren’t you baby?” He felt that tingling low in his stomach, tugging at his spine, “Good little bitch, gonna let me pump you full of my seed, mark you as my property.” Dean released his hip to smack an ass cheek, and Sam cried his name.

“Wanna be yours, Dean,” his brother begged, fingers digging into the mattress as he tried to hold himself back from cumming before Dean gave the word, “Nnnng, need to cum.”

“Cum for me, baby boy,” Dean commanded, stroking his brother’s dick hard as he pounded into him, “Cum for big brother.”

Sam moaned and went rigid beneath him, breathing uneven and ass clenching around Dean’s dick as he began to cum. Dean groaned and rammed hard into him, his brother’s tight hole milking his orgasm from him as he began to shoot his load. He shoved deep, biting down on the back of Sam’s bare shoulder as he pumped his cum into his brother. Dean growled in approval as Sam cried out in pleasure-pain, another mini-orgasm ripping through him.

Dean collapsed on the other man when his own orgasm was finished, trying to catch his breath. He pressed his lips against Sam’s neck, licked at the salty skin; he could feel the younger man’s racing pulse as he licked his pulse point, heard Sam panting to catch his breath, also. “Good boy,” he whispered, pressing kisses along his neck and the back of his shoulder.

When Dean could raise himself up on his arms, he carefully pulled out of his brother and rolled off him, wincing as his muscles protested. His green gaze shifted to the other, and he found Sam’s eyes on him. “You okay?” he asked softly, too blissed to feel very awkward just yet. Sam nodded yes, raised a hand to touch his face. Dean closed his eyes for a moment at the touch. When he opened them again, he caught Sam’s wrist and inspected it. To his relief, the symbol that had been there for the past few days was gone.

“Dean..”

His eyes returned to his brother, and Sam asked, voice slightly hoarse, “Are – are we --?”  
“We’re good,” he finished, throwing an arm over his brother’s waist and tugging him close, “Yeah. We’re good, Sam.” 

 

 _’We’re good’_ turned out to be easier said than done when you’ve fucked your own brother, Dean found out over the next few days. His brother had crashed minutes after their sex-fest, sleeping through the night. Dean had barely been able to wrangle the man into the other bed before Sam was asleep. Dean had grabbed a shower and tugged on a pair of jogging pants, then pulled the dirty sheets off his bed. He had tossed them into the corner and had thrown the blanket over the bare mattress, before crashing for the night himself.

Both men woke the next morning, hungry (they hadn’t had dinner the previous night) and in need of caffeine. And obviously feeling awkward. Sam grabbed a shower and dressed in the bathroom – Dean was dressed when he came out – and they went to grab some breakfast. 

Most of the meal was silent. Sam would barely look directly at him, shooting him sidelong glances or looks from beneath his too-long lashes (and when had Dean realized just how long his brother’s lashes were, anyway?). He allowed Dean to inspect his wrist again, to make certain the symbol really was gone (and it was), but a hand on his shoulder later had him shooting the older man a startled look and a nervous smile.

They made another attempt to find the witch after breakfast was finished and coffee was consumed, but found frustratingly little information. 

The awkward silences and avoidance of gazes went on for almost three days. The third day after the curse had been lifted, Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth as they climbed out of the Impala. They had talked over lunch about their lack of information regarding the witch’s whereabouts: it was obvious that she wasn’t in town anymore. Or if she was, she had one hell of a hiding spot.

The awkward tension between he and Sam was about to drive him nuts. He had overstepped his boundaries, _way_ overstepped them. Like, out of this galaxy overstepped them. He knew that, he had known that when he made the decision to have sex with his brother to save his life. An “I’m sorry, we’re good” wasn’t bound to fix that. He doubted even one of Sam’s chick-flick heart-to-hearts would fix it. 

At least Sam didn’t seem to be in any kind of pain, or experiencing any of the symptoms that had plagued him since this had started.

There had even been an awkward silence when Bobby had called the morning after the curse had been lifted, updating them on what he had found (same information, nothing new) and asking about Sam. Dean had informed him that the curse had been lifted, and silence had reigned for the next 60 seconds. Finally, Bobby had huffed a gruff, “Good, good,” asked if they were good (that word again), and had hung up to answer another call.

Dean glanced over at his brother as he moved to unlock the door of their motel room, and found the other man staring at him. Sam looked away after a moment and ran a hand through his hair, before admitting, “This – this is awkward.”

“Yeah,” Dean opened the door and stepped aside so his brother could enter the room, “A little.”

“I thought –“ Sam hesitated as he moved past Dean to enter the room, rubbed the back of his neck, “Maybe it wouldn’t - You said we were good. Thought maybe it wouldn’t be so – so weird.” 

“We are good,” he snapped without meaning to do so, too much nervous energy and long-repressed emotions adding a harsh note to his voice, “But it’s going to be a little weird when you’ve had to fuck your brother, Sam.”

Sam’s brows furrowed together, pain of a different sort touching his features, “I’m sorry,” the bigger man whispered, eyes on the floor, “for – for making you – I’m sorry.”

“Sam – “ guilt welled in Dean as he saw the expression on his brother’s face – it wasn’t Sam’s fault that he had been cursed, it was the witch who did it, “I didn’t mean – “

“It’s okay,” Sam pushed by him to step back out of the room, “It’s – it’s okay, Dean.”

“Where you going?”

“Just for a walk,” his brother stepped into the parking lot, hands shoved in the pockets of the light jacket he was wearing, “Just – need some air.”

Dean watched him cross the parking lot and then the street. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck.”

 

Dean found his brother in the local bar – one of the only two bars in this town – several hours later. His brother was talking to a pretty brunette, beer in hand, when he entered. It took Dean a moment to recognize the waitress from the waffle house several days before, the one Sam had flirted with and used the palm-reading line on.

He took a seat on a stool a short distance down the bar and ordered a beer from the bartender whom approached him. If Sam wanted space, he would give him space. It wasn’t like he could blame him – he _had_ not only overstepped those boundaries by galaxies, in a situation that had made actual, genuine consent dubious, but he had very obviously enjoyed it. He couldn’t really fault Sam for wanting distance. 

Dean tossed a ten dollar bill down on the bar, muttered at the bartender to keep the change, and popped the cap. He took a long pull from the bottle before glancing over, in Sam’s direction. He paused in setting the bottle down on the bar’s surface as he found his brother’s eyes on him. Their gazes met for a long moment before Sam looked away, taking a drink of his own beer. 

Dean watched as his brother wrapped his lips around the rim of the bottle, swallowed down his drink. His cock twitched as an image of Sam, on his knees between Dean’s legs with Dean’s dick in his mouth, popped into his head. He watched, cock twitching again, as Sam licked his lips after pulling his mouth away from the bottle, and he rubbed his hand over his face. Damnit. 

Dean was on his second beer, alternating between people-watching and Sam-watching, when the brunette with his brother grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him out on what was supposed to be a dance floor. He glared in their direction as his brother laughed and shook his head. He practically growled, earning a startled look from the woman on the stool next to him, when the brunette turned around and pressed up against Sam, her back to his chest (more like her back to his stomach – his brother was a foot taller than the girl) and began to grind against him. The rapid, angry bass of the pop song pounding from the bar’s speakers matched the current beat of his heart.

Dean left his beer on the bar, forgotten, as he stalked across the room.

Sam looked over his shoulder, startled and in instant defense mode, when Dean stepped behind him and dropped a hand to his hip. The man relaxed a fraction upon seeing that it was him – still in fight or flight mode but not in the way he was when anything supernatural was present. Dean looked over the other’s shoulder, at the brunette, as she turned toward them. “Beat it,” he called over the music, hand tightening on his brother’s hip and jerking the big man back against him. The brunette glared at him, then sulked at Sam. When his brother remained silent, she turned and stomped away.

“Let’s go,” he leaned in close to instruct the other over the music.  
Sam frowned, tried to pull away, and shot back, “Not compelled to listen to you anymore, Dean.”  
He jerked the other back against him and pressed his hips against Sam’s ass. Sam’s lips parted and his brother drew a sharp breath as he growled near the man’s ear, “No, but you _want_ to, don’t you?” He slipped his hand into Sam’s hair, tugging lightly at the chestnut strands, and warned, “We leave now, or you’ll be sucking my dick right here in the middle of this place.”

Sam bit his lip hard at the warning, and allowed Dean to guide him across the building, to the exit. 

They made it to the Impala before Dean shoved his brother back against the car and caught his mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. Sam was panting for breath when they parted finally, pupils blown wide and fingers clutching Dean’s shirt.

“Told you you’re mine,” he brushed his mouth against his brother’s ear, nipping the shell lightly with his teeth and drawing a soft gasp of pleasure from Sam’s throat, “Meant it. You’re mine and I don’t share. Clear?”

Sam’s eyes locked with his, and the other licked his lips and whispered, “Clear.”

Dean smiled, soft but real, and instructed gently, “In the car, baby boy. Gonna show you how good it can be – how good _we_ can be - without a curse involved.”


End file.
